


Wouldn't Miss It

by thejolyclub



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: As in a cut, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejolyclub/pseuds/thejolyclub
Summary: Enjolras leaves his shoes at Grantaire's house and Grantaire somehow makes a cookie tin dangerous.





	Wouldn't Miss It

An incessant tone rouses Grantaire from where he is passed out on the couch. The sound drills into his aching head. Grantaire could have sworn it was Saturday. Friday night is usually when he gets drunk and fall asleep on his uncomfortable and dubiously brown couch. So why the hell is his alarm going off? 

“Fuck this.” His says, cracking his eyes open. The phone finally stops playing saxophone. 

Grantaire’s sleep muddled brain struggles to catch up. His alarm is a loud beeping noise, not jazz. That was the phone ringing.

Grantaire struggles into a sitting position, groaning at the pounding in his temples. He swipes the dried drool off his face and surveys his apartment.

The sun is coming in brightly through the windows, which means it must be at least 10. Several beer bottles and more paper plates lay strewn around the living room and kitchen, remnants of les amis bi monthly movie night. 

Everyone came, which was a surprise. Usually, someone misses it, whether it be Feuilly for picking up an extra shift, or Combeferre having a paper to finish. They are a big group, after all. 

But even Enjolras came this time. Enjolras and Grantaire have come to somewhat of a truce recently, although they still argue the regular amount during meetings, Grantaire feels like they are approaching friendliness. They had a civil conversation at Jehan’s pizza night the other week. Grantaire might just be imagining the whole friends thing though. He wouldn’t be quick to assume that with Enjolras.  
In any case, Enjolras came, bringing along Combeferre and his legendary chocolate peanut butter cookies. It was a good night.

Those cookies sound pretty good right now, after a gallon of coffee and some advil, that is. Grantaire heaves himself off the couch and stumbles to the kitchen. After starting the coffee maker, he fishes around in the cabinet and downs some advil with some water straight from the facet.

His phone dings.  
“Shit.”  
He forget that someone called.  
He scoops up his phone from the floor beside the couch and turns it on as he pours his coffee.

Enjolras: R? I’m going to assume you are awake and come over.

Grantaire nearly spits out his coffee. The missed call is from Enjolras too. 

Enjolras and Grantaire never hang alone together, despite their recent peace treaty. Better to have a group to act as a buffer. And coming over randomly at- Grantaire checks the time- 12 o’clock on a Saturday? That is unheard of.

Grantaire scrambles to send a reply as he locates his abandoned jeans on the floor.

Grantaire: Can I ask why you are gracing me with your presence this early on a Saturday?

Grantaire gulps down his scalding coffee to calm his nerves. It doesn’t help much.  
He waits nearly 5 minutes and Enjolras doesn’t text back. Instead, the doorbell rings.

“Ugh. Of course he just shows up.” Grantaire mutters looking down at his sleep wrinkled clothes. He sighs and buzzes Enjolras in.

Grantaire opens his door, and there Enjolras stands in all his stately beauty, the sunlight catching his hair and turning it golden. The look on his face is slightly less godly. Disgruntled maybe, or embarrassed perhaps? Enjolras shifts in the doorway.

“Hello, Grantaire.” Grantaire moves to let him in.

“Hey, Apol-” Grantaire cuts off, noticing Enjolras’ feet.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Enjolras has on a pair of bright blue crocs.

Enjolras sighs and scrubs his face.  
“That’s part of why I’m here, R.” His says.

“What, to show me those monstrosities? Trust me, I did not want to see them.” Grantaire says, closing the door.

“No, these are Combeferre’s crocs.”  
“Of course.” Grantaire mutters. Combeferre has been known to make some questionable fashion choices.  
“I think I left my shoes here last night.” Enjolras continues. “Have you seen them?”

Grantaire surveys the room.  
“I don’t know, Apollo. I haven’t even been awake for ten minutes. I haven’t exactly been looking for your glass slippers. How did you leave without them anyway?” Enjolras’ cheeks flush.

“Well, It’s kind of a funny story.” He starts.

“Aha! I see. Do tell, and feel free to look around the apartment for your shoes.” Grantaire calls to Enjolras. He goes and pulls out another mug from the cupboard.

“I’m assuming you want coffee?” He asks, already pouring Enjolras some. Enjolras always wants coffee.

“Thank you.” Enjolras calls politely from the other side of the living room. He is looking under a chair.

Grantaire stirs in large amounts of cream and sugar, Enjolras doesn’t take it black, the heathen. He strolls over to Enjolras, quietly admiring the view of Enjolras’ backside from where he is crouched, looking under the coffee table. 

Enjolras sits up and gratefully accepts the cup, taking a sip and sighing at the taste. He looks at Grantaire, surprised.

“You know how I take my coffee.” He says.

“You like ungodly amounts of cream and sugar, it's hard to forget.” Grantaire says, avoiding Enjolras’ eyes. He can feel Enjolras studying his face. 

“Alright, so tell me why I have your shoes, Apollo.” Grantaire says, kicking at the crumpled blanket on the easy chair in the corner.

“Well,” Enjolras begins, taking another sip of coffee. “When you, Bousset and Bahorel were eating cookies in your room, I was drinking your shitty beer.” This isn’t exactly a good explanation.

“What? But you don’t like to drink.” Grantaire says.  
“Because I’m a lightweight.” Enjolras responds, impatiently.  
“So I had a beer, because Musichetta offered, and then I had a couple more, and pretty soon Feuilly was giving me a piggyback to the car, and nobody seemed to notice that I wasn’t wearing my shoes.” Enjolras finishes, staring into his mug.

“Wow.” Grantaire observes. “That is probably the tamest drunk story I have ever heard. Still, I wish I had seen it happen.”

Enjolras glares at Grantaire.  
“Well you could have, but you were hiding in your room hoarding the chocolate cookies.”

It's true. Early in night, Joly and Bossuet had made something of a game of tossing the tin of cookie around the room, due to their high demand. The game became less and less dangerous for the cookies, as they were beginning to be eaten, and Bahorel and Grantaire became more competitive, moving the game up to Grantaire’s weird loft bedroom.

“We didn’t mean to!” Grantaire protests. This is also true. They had meant to bring the cookies back downstairs, but their game quickly devolved into a wrestling match, and then Bousset began refereeing, and then Cosette, who actually knew wrestling rules did too, and then it was a tournament.

“Hey wait a second,” Grantaire thinks of something.  
“Did Combeferre ever get his cookie tin back?”

Enjolras is now peeking under Grantaire’s kitchen chairs, but he looks around at Grantaire when he says this.

“Well, I was drunk, so I couldn’t tell you for sure, but I am guessing he probably didn’t.” He says, climbing out from under the table.

Grantaire goes to the staircase that leads to his bedroom. It’s nice to have a large bedroom on another floor, but on nights like last one where he was intoxicated, he isn’t very good at climbing up the spiral staircase. Hence, why he slept on the shitty couch.

“Could you give it to him? I would feel bad for eating his cookies and then hoarding the tin too.” He calls over his shoulder as he mounts the steps.

“Sure, I think he’s home today- hey! I found my shoes!” Enjolras calls excitedly. Grantaire is excited too. Those crocs look horrible on Enjolras. They mess with his roman statue aesthetic. Granted, his red hoodie isn’t helping that either, but Grantaire can overlook it, unlike the blue horrors.

“Yay!” Grantaire calls down, quickly swiping the cookie tin from where it sits in a pile of his clothes. Way easier to find than the shoes.

Enjolras stands at the bottom of the stairs, holding up his black shoes and smiling. Grantaire pauses. God, that smile. Grantaire wishes he could see it more often, more specifically, directed at him. He has a dimple. Fuck that dimple.

He realizes he has been staring too long and his brain scrambles for something to diffuse the quickly approaching awkwardness.

“Hey, catch!” Grantaire says, holding up the kidnapped cookie tin. The game from last night. Enjolras it a good catch, he caught it last night, several times. It should be fine, but Grantaire makes an error.

As if in slow motion, Enjolras bends to set down his newly discovered shoes. At the same moment, Grantaire releases the tin towards where Enjolras’ hands were, just moments before. The tin sails through the air, arcing perfectly, but instead of landing in Enjolras’ outstretched hands, it falls gracefully, hitting Enjolras’ browbone with a thud.

Grantaire barely hearing the clang of the tin hitting the floor, only seeing Enjolras stumble backwards, hands coming up to clutch his face.  
Grantaire is down the steps in a second.

“Fuck.” Enjolras grits out, his body turned away from Grantaire. God, Grantaire really fucked this up. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry.” Grantaire babbles.  
“That’s going to bruise.” Enjolras lets out a shaky laugh, taking his hand away from his eye gingerly.

“Shit, you’re bleeding!” Grantaire says, somewhat hysterically. There is a cut just below Enjolras’ eyebrow that it bright red and beginning to drip.

Enjolras examines his hand, which had some of the blood on it.  
“Oh, I am.” he says. He seems a whole lot calmer than Grantaire would expect him to be, given that Grantaire hit him with a cookie tin.

“Okay. Okay, let's clean it up. God, I am so sorry.”  
Grantaire takes Enjolras by the elbow, and leads him into the kitchen, sitting him down on one of the chairs at the table. He is holding his face towards the ceiling in an attempt to stop the blood from dripping.  
Grantaire gets a towel from the drawer and dabs at the wound. Enjolras takes the towel and holds it against the cut.

“Ice! I’ll get ice.” Grantaire decides, going to the freezer.  
“I really didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, Enjolras.” Grantaire slides the ice underneath the kitchen towel.

“It’s fine, Grantaire. It doesn’t hurt that much. I was just surprised.” Says Enjolras, surprisingly gentle. It’s probably just the shock.

“Really? We should probably look at how bad it is.” Grantaire says. He wishes Joly was here, he would know what to do. 

Enjolras gingerly pulls the dish towel away from his face. Grantaire tries not to be self conscious as he cups Enjolras’ face tilting it to the side to examine the wound.  
It really isn’t that bad, only a couple centimeters long, although it is rather wide. The blood has mostly stopped coming already.  
Grantaire makes the mistake of meeting Enjolras’ eyes. His bright green iris’ stare steadily back at Grantaire.  
Grantaire hastily takes his hand off of Enjolras’ face.

“Well, I don’t think you’re concussed.” Grantaire says, grateful for an excuse.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grantaire, you didn’t hit me that hard.” Enjolras says.

“Okay.” Grantaire says, not meaning it. Enjolras rolls his eyes and presses the towel back to his face.

“Can I look at it?” Enjolras asks.

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” Grantaire jumps into action, leading Enjolras towards the bathroom.

“You know, I can walk just fine.” Enjolras says.

“I hit you with a hard metal object, Apollo, just let me do this for you.” Grantaire grumbles, feeling minimally better now that Enjolras is out of imminent danger.

In the bathroom, Enjolras examines the cut carefully, and Grantaire looks through his drawers for disinfectant.

“I think I should call Joly.” Grantaire says, pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a cotton ball. He dabs Enjolras’ eye with it, and Enjolras winces slightly.

“Why?” Enjolras wonders.

“What if it needs stitches? What if you are left with a huge scar for the rest of your life? We need doctor Joly.”

“It's fine, Grantaire. Don’t worry.” Enjolras says.

“Sorry, too late, already on the phone!” Grantaire calls out.

Then phone rings twice and Joly picks up.

“Grantaire? Why are you already awake?” 

Grantaire laughs nervously.

“So, funny story, so I hit Enjolras with a cookie tin and now he’s bleeding and should I take him to the ER?” 

“What?!”

“I am not going to the ER!” Exclaims Enjolras. Grantaire shushes Enjolras.

“Let me talk to the patient!” Joly says in a surprisingly commanding voice. Grantaire hands the phone to Enjolras, not going to argue with a scary Joly.

Enjolras answers Joly’s questions about pain level and size of the wound without complaint, but as soon as it seems that Joly gives his verdict, Enjolras begins arguing again.

“I’m fine- honestly, I promise-” Enjolras sighs and presses the dish cloth back to his face. He glares impressively at Grantaire and hands the phone back to him.

“So what’s the scoop?” Grantaire asks Joly.

“I’m fine.” Enjolras spits out right as Joly says:  
“He should probably go the ER.” Grantaire raises an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“It doesn’t sound bad, but it might scar. It’s better to get it stitched up so the wound is smaller” Joly continues.

“Okay, thank you Joly. I’ll get him to go. And thanks for being doctor Joly on a Saturday off.” Grantaire says, trying to ignore Enjolras’ burning gaze.

Joly sighs in relief.

“Thank god, a voice of reason. Please make sure he’s okay, I don’t want it to get infected.” Joly says worriedly.

“I promise I’ll look after him. Bye Joly!” 

“Bye R!”

Grantaire hangs up and turns to face Enjolras. Enjolras has a funny look on his face, and it doesn’t look like it’s from pain.

“Why are you doing this R?” Enjolras asks.

“What do you mean?” Grantaire wonders, on his guard.

“Is it because you feel guilty? Is that why you’re so worried? I mean, of course, you’d do this in a heartbeat for our friends, but why me?”

Grantaire has a weird urge to laugh.

Does Enjolras really not know?

“You don’t know why?” Grantaire croaks out.

Enjolras frowns.

“No? I mean, I’ve been a real asshole to you. I’ve said a lot of things I’ve regretted over the years. I mean, I’ve gotten better, I’ve tried to-” Enjolras shakes his head.

Grantaire just stares. Enjolras, unbelievably, seems to think that Grantaire hates him. And even more unbelievably doesn’t seem to despise Grantaire.  
The words slide out of his lips before he can stop them.

“Enjolras, Don’t you understand? I’d do anything for you. I’m in love with you.”

Enjolras drops the towel, eyes widening. Grantaire sucks in his breath. Now he’s really done it.

“That can’t be right. You hate me.” Enjolras says incredulously.  
“I’m the one who is in love with you.”

Grantaire freezes, Enjolras’ words don’t make sense. He could have sworn Enjolras said he loves him.

“You- you love me?” Grantaire stutters out.

“Yes, I do.” Enjolras says quietly looking away.

“Well, that’s the best news I have heard in a long time.” Grantaire says.

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire sharply, green eyes flashing just as brightly as when Grantaire first met him.

“Why?” Enjolras asks.

“I love you.” Grantaire says, stepping closer to Enjolras. He can still see the doubt written on Enjolras’ face.

“I do. And I’m going to keep saying that until you believe me.” Enjolras smiles hesitantly.

“Can I- Can I kiss you?” Grantaire feels almost like he is dreaming. Yet even his dreams never turned out like this.

“Yes, of course.”

Their lips touch, soft, warm, tasting of coffee.

When they part, Grantaire studies Enjolras’ face. The cut is still there.

“Please can I take you to the ER?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras laughs.

“Only if you’ll let me take you on a date afterward.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Real Life Events that left me with a cool scar.


End file.
